


Pennies and Dimes for a Kiss

by gremlins-came-and-got-me (Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Asshole Jackson, Bully Jackson, Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski are the Same Age, Hale family - Freeform, Human AU, Lahey Family - Freeform, Laura POV, Love at First Sight, M/M, Mechanic Derek, Singer Laura, Stiles POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 05:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15550791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark/pseuds/gremlins-came-and-got-me
Summary: Laura, lead singer of a garage band, sees her new next door neighbor mowing the lawn one day. Derek begs her not to make it weird.





	Pennies and Dimes for a Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Big thank you to annasakai who bid on me (and let me run with this idea) and thanks to Fandom Cares for running the auction.
> 
> Title and inspiration comes from [Carly Rae Jepson's Call Me Maybe](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fWNaR-rxAic).

~ * ~

Laura was tuning Babe, her fourth-hand electric guitar, when she saw him.

He was her neighbor, recently moved in next door, and currently he was taking off his t-shirt to mop at his sweaty face.

He was pale in the way that it was early summer and the temps had finally climbed high enough for tank tops and shorts. Moles speckled his skin, stars painted across the canvas of his body. Her fingers itched to write the lyrics of him.

“Derek!” she yelled. Her brother sighed loudly, rolling his eyes. He straightened from where he’d been tinkering with Dad’s bike and strolled to where she was sitting on an overturned cooler. He deliberately wiped his hands on a grease-covered rag before deigning to ask, waspishly, “What?”

“Go get my lyric book,” she ordered him.

He glared at her. “No.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, but he only glared harder. Ever since he’d shot up about a foot and a half and started weightlifting, she hadn’t been able to boss him around as much.

It was frustrating.

Well, bossing might not work now, but Derek was not immune to her begging.

“Please?” she whined. “I need to finish this,” she stroked Babe’s frets, “for the gig tonight, but inspiration.”

Derek rolled his eyes again but loped off amiably. He returned shortly, her lyric book in one hand, a twelve pack of Mountain Dew in the other, and their younger sister Cora trailing him.

“Thank you,” Laura said, grabbing the book. She scowled at him when she noticed the large, oil-stained prints all over the cover. “Derek!”

He snickered, setting the pack of soda down. “Hey, you got your book,” he pointed out. Laura glared harder, imbuing her gaze with as much hatred as she could. Sometimes he could be such an asshole.

“Your book and no pen!” Cora crowed. Laura stuck her tongue out at her. Cora may have only just turned twelve, but apparently she wasn’t too grown up to not retaliate by blowing a raspberry in Laura’s direction.

“Why aren’t you ever as rude to Derek?” she lamented.

Cora shrugged. “He lets me do what I want.” To emphasize her point, she grabbed a can of soda and Derek didn’t stop her.

Laura sulked, useless lyric book balanced on her thigh while she fiddled with the tuning keys.

Derek watched her for a few moments before digging a pencil out of his toolbox. Laura took it without acknowledgement, setting Babe down reverently. She flipped to a fresh page and began scribbling. Derek went back to Dad’s bike, and Cora sat next to him.

Next Door Hottie was back to mowing. He hadn’t replaced his t-shirt, and Laura spent a couple of minutes watching his muscles bunch under his skin. He was lean and wiry without being narrow or small. He appeared to be about Derek’s height, with legs up to the sky and strength bunched in his forearms as he pushed the mower back and forth.

She managed to write six truly terrible lines before NDH finished mowing, guzzling water straight from the hose in his backyard.

Laura fanned herself at the display, wishing she were the water he was chugging.

Immediately she wrote: “Baby, you look like you need a drink, and honey, I’m your flavor.”

Derek’s wrench clattered by her feet, and she yelled at him about almost hitting Babe.

He rolled his eyes. “She’s on the other side of you,” he said. “You’re making it weird. Quit staring or I’ll tell him.”

“You wouldn’t,” Laura gasped, clutching dramatically at her bosom.

“Don’t pretend to be insulted.” He rolled his eyes again. At this rate, he was going to strain something. “Just. Please don’t be weird to _our_ neighbor. You’re not the one he’ll beat up if he doesn’t like you.”

“He’s not going to be another Jackson Whittemore,” Laura said, but she winced at the reminder of their previous next door neighbor who used to beat Derek up whenever Laura did something he didn’t like—and Laura had lived to antagonize him.

It hadn’t helped Derek any that he’d been crushing on Jackson’s best friend, Danny Mahealani. In order to protect Danny from the uncool, Jackson had jumped Derek and kicked his teeth in.

Two lawsuits and the Whittemores paying for Derek’s dental work later, the Whittemores moved away.

The house next door had been empty for almost two years. Now there was a gorgeous guy mowing the overgrown yard and making Laura’s nether regions quiver in anticipation.

She was going through a dry spell since Mom caught her with the older Lahey boy last year at one of her “study” sessions. All because Cam was already eighteen and Laura had just turned seventeen.

NDH looked like he was nicely under eighteen but still mature enough to know his way around a pussy.

“No one can be another Jackson Whittemore,” Derek broke into her thoughts. He still didn’t look happy, so Laura put down her lyric book and stood up to hug him. She stole a can of soda on her way back down.

“I’ve almost got the song,” she said. “I just need—”

“Less cheese?” Cora interrupted looking pleased with herself. Laura sneered at her.

If Derek was standing up to her now and being insufferable, Cora was ten times worse.

Derek was Cora’s favorite, so to have the carefully cultivated older-sister fear dispelled so rudely, it meant that her little sister was a little shit.

“My lyrics are fine. They’re just not as fine as him.”

Derek collected his wrench, taking time to grab Laura’s can and drain it in one long swallow. “You’re being creepy again,” he told her, handing the can back to her. “Besides, don’t you have a gig tonight? Shouldn’t you be over at Jordan’s to practice?”

Laura checked her watch, swearing because he was right. “Bye, assholes,” she called as she stuffed Babe into her case and grabbed another can for the road. Parrish lived on the next street over, the back of his yard butted up to theirs. She hopped the fence, jogging to make up time.

~ * ~

“No,” Stiles said flatly. He ignored the sad, pleading look Scott shot at him. Stiles sighed. “Do you see this?” he demanded, pointing around them. “The yard still looks like shit.”

In the not too distant neighborhood, someone began banging on drums. Stiles clenched his teeth.

He hated it here. He would have preferred to stay in his own neighborhood in Hill Valley with Scott and Harley, but with his dad’s election to Sheriff came a bigger paycheck. Dad had sold their modest two bedroom house and moved them 12.5 miles away.

Seriously, who did that?

At least since they were still in the same school district, he’d get to see his two best friends during the school year. It just sucked that since his dad had grounded him from his Jeep—something about a party with underage drinking and sex, neither of which Stiles was participating in—he hadn’t been able to visit his friends, relying instead on their texts and nightly messenger calls.

Since neither of them had vehicles or licenses, they hadn’t been able to visit either.

Scott had finally convinced his mom to drive him to Stiles’ new house for a sleepover, and now he wanted to go see some stupid cover band.

“Stiles,” Scott implored. “Please? They’re, like, the coolest. They go to our school.”

Stiles shook his head. “That just means they’re losers like us.”

“No,” Scott insisted, “they’re really cool. I mean, they’re all seniors and we’re going to be juniors.”

“Juniors are cool,” Stiles said. He wasn’t looking forward to school. If Jackson Whittemore was back from London, as the rumors were saying, then his life was over.

Jackson aka Jackass had been such a dick that he’d knocked some dumb Devenford Prep kid’s face in and had been sent to boarding school. In Europe!

And now Stiles was living in Jackass’s old house. There was no way this would end well for Stiles.

At least he could console himself with the fact that he hadn’t yet embarrassed himself in front of his hot next door neighbor.

Technically, Stiles had forty neighbors, fifteen of them to either side.

There were the Laheys on the left and the Hales on the right. Four Laheys. Eleven Hales. And only one had caught Stiles’ eye.

The middle child, Darren or Eric or something like that, was outside when Stiles and his dad came to scope out the place before his dad bought it.

Darren-Eric had been working on a motorcycle with his bulging arms on display. Stiles had walked into the clothesline post, and his dad had spent the rest of the tour alternatively laughing at him and trying to see what distracted him enough that he gave himself a black eye.

Since they’d officially moved in, Darren-Eric had worked on the bike damn near every day. And Stiles walked into the post so many times that Dad hired the boys next door—the immature Lahey brothers—to remove it.

It was a combination of his dad and Scott that inspired him to try getting Darren-Eric’s attention. His dad kept complaining about the state of the lawn—a tad bit overgrown—and Scott kept texting him stories about all the muscles he was getting by mowing his mom’s and Harley’s dad’s properties.

A neat yard and muscles. Sounded great. So Stiles spent all his time outside, pushing around a dinky mower he thought would die on him with every grunt, and trying to both catch the eye of and impress his hot neighbor.

So far, he hadn’t succeeded in anything except tanning (and making a few new muscles). Darren-Eric kept working on his bike and ignoring Stiles.

He complained once to Scott about it, and all Scott said was “Oh that sucks. Say, Mom said I could visit.”

Now they were here and Scott was still trying to get him to agree to go to the stupid band thing.

“Fine,” Scott said exasperated, “the neighbor you like? His sister is in the band. He’ll probably be there.”

“Wait,” Stiles said, gaze immediately going to the Hales’ garage. None of the kids, only three of them, two girls and the hot boy, were there. It was just the adults sitting on camp chairs, drinking beer, and shooting the shit.

“Seriously?” He’d seen the oldest girl with her guitar of course. He just hadn’t thought she’d been in the cacophonous racket emanating from the property flanking the Hales’.

Scott smiled knowingly, handing Stiles his plaid over shirt.

“I hate you,” Stiles told him.

“Uh huh, let’s go.”

They jumped the fence and cut through the empty lot behind Stiles’ yard to join the growing crowd in front of an open garage.

The guitar-girl saw them and faltered. Stiles nudged Scott and he nudged back.

Behind her, helping to run cables from the instruments to the amps was Darren-Eric. Stiles shamelessly watched him. He wanted those arms and that face. He wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

Stiles hadn’t even kissed anyone yet. Scott followed his gaze and nudged him pretty hard. Stiles knocked him back, and when he looking again Darren-Eric was nowhere in sight.

He swallowed down his disappointment. Mostly because the band was starting to play and the crowd around them started yelling.

Up close, the band was just as awful, disorganized, and ear-bleedingly bad, but in kind of a good way? Guitar-girl was also the lead singer, and she had a good voice.

Halfway through the set, the band paused for water. Then, guitar-girl grabbed her mic.

“This next song is for all the younger siblings out there—especially you, Derek.” She pointed at Darren-Eric, who was hiding behind a shapely shrub.

Derek, Stiles thought. It was a good name for him.

“Scott, give me some paper.”

“No.” Scott carried a journal everywhere. He never actually wrote in it, but he said liked to be prepared.

“Please?”

Scott relented, handing over the notebook with its severely masticated pen. Stiles tore out a page and printed his number. Below it, he added a simple, “CALL ME” and folded it up. Then he gave Scott back his journal and settled in to listen to the rest of the set.

~ * ~

The gig had gone perfectly. Even with NDH showing up—and that was a nice ego boost, to have him staring at her during setup—and making her a little nervous.

Jordan’s cousin who usually helped them sort cables was sick, so Derek had helped. Normally, he stayed home listening to their aunts and uncles bitch about their jobs. He stuck around the whole set, glaring at her dedication of “You All Suck.” Afterward, he helped them tear down, rolling cables with a practiced ease she knew was from his theater nerd side. He wanted to be a mechanic or an actor. She wanted to be a singer. Their mother was disappointed in them both.

“Just you wait,” Jordan told Derek. “We’ll make a roadie out of you yet.” He accompanied it with a lecherous wink.

Derek pretended to laugh, sidling away from the drummer and the only one who’s mom would let him host a band out of his garage. Jordan made him uncomfortable, but Derek refused to confront him about it. Laura hadn’t figured out why yet. It drove her to frustration that he wouldn’t let her do it either.

Almost everyone in the crowd was gone when Laura looked up. Only NDH and his friend were still standing there.

Derek tapped her shoulder. “Need me?”

Laura shook her head. “Where’s my lyric book?”

Derek pulled it off a shelf and shoved it at her. He glanced at NDH and leaned in close. “Don’t be weird,” he said.

“I won’t.” All Laura was going to do was give NDH her number.

“Hey, so,” NDH said behind her, and she whipped around, paper held out defensively. He was behind her yes, but he’d grabbed Derek’s arm. “I just was curious—I mean, would you…?” he faltered, trailing off and blushing under Derek’s heavy gaze. Derek flicked his eyes to Laura and then deliberately opened a folded piece of paper in his hand. Laura saw a number and some words, looked down at her paper where all she’d written was “Call me?” She wrote down a number and slipped it into NDH’s pocket.

“Going home or not, Derek?” she knocked him with her shoulder. Derek’s face scrunched and he looked to NDH.

NDH stuck out his hand. “Hi, I’m Stiles. I just moved in next door.”

“Hi, Stiles,” Laura said. She looked from her brother to Stiles. They wore identical blushes, and she wasn’t dumb. She knew what it meant. It meant that she could write all the songs about Stiles’ attributes that she wanted but her drought would persist.

“Don’t stay out too late,” she called, shouldering Babe’s case. “And don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

Derek groaned, covering his face.

“What would you do?” Stiles asked, innocently.

Derek groaned again. “Don’t,” he warned Laura. “Please don’t.”

Laura blew him a kiss and strolled to the fence to hop it. Her heart felt funny, like it was missing beats, but when she looked back and her brother was smiling, eyes shining at Stiles, their stances relaxed, the same blush burning both of their ears, she decided it didn’t matter. Besides, together, they made a pretty good pair.

Stiles definitely wasn’t another Jackson Whittemore, hallelujah. She couldn’t wait to tease her brother.

Maybe she would write them a song.

Maybe.

Maybe Call Me.

~ Fin ~

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted at [my Tumblr](http://1989dreamer.tumblr.com/post/176589432730/pennies-and-dimes-for-a-kiss).


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